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“You don’t suppose that’s a one-night stand in there, do you?”
“I have no clue,mon trésor.”
“I guess we’ll have to wait until he wakes up before we get answers.”
I whimper pathetically. All I want to do is roll over and snuggle into my gorgeous, warm boyfriend. Unfortunately, that’s no longer an option. Instead, I brush a light kiss against Gunnar’s shoulder and shimmy down the mattress, carefully slipping out from under his arm so I don’t wake him. That’s the last thing I need right now. Scooping up the sweatpants and T-shirt I wore last night, I tiptoe to the bathroom, softly closing the door. Trying not to panic, I quickly brush my teeth and use the toilet, glancing at my clothes as I wash my hands. They’re a rumpled mess and smell of Gunnar and sex. For a total of three seconds, I debate getting fresh clothes from my dresser, but that might wake Gunnar. Better to hold off on that for as long as possible. I pull everything on and quickly run my fingers through my tangled hair before slipping out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind me.
Pausing at the top of the stairs to move the suitcases into my office, I take a deep breath and descend toward potential doom. By the time I reach the bottom, I’ve squared my shoulders and put as much confidence into my voice as I can, given the circumstances. “Bonjour, maman, papa.” My parents are gazing out the window at Elliott Bay, but when they hear my voice, they turn around. I continue our conversation in French since it’s just us. “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, but why are you here?” I cross the room, giving them each a hug and kiss, motioning toward the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea?”
My mother’s brown eyes, a mirror of my own, light up. “Yes,mon chou, that would be lovely. I’ll have tea. Shall we follow you in?”
I nod and stifle a yawn, wondering what time it is. “Sure. Dad? Coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.” He motions for my mother and me to precede him into the kitchen. My parents sit at the table while I turn on the kettle and the coffee pot.
“What is he wearing?” My mother’s attempt at a whisper fails miserably.
From the exasperated tone in my father’s voice, this is not the first question she’s asked like this. “Clothing, Livia. Probably picked from the bedroom floor, given how rumpled it is.”
I pointedly ignore them and the look they’re exchanging. “Well, I have successfully used all of my culinary skills, and I haven’t even showered yet. Good start to my day. Oh, and again, this is me, glad to see you, but why are you here?” I sit down at the table, looking between them expectantly.
My father shrugs ever so slightly, his light blue eyes flicking toward my mother, who takes my hand and smiles. “Well,mon trésor, it’s been forever since we’ve had a visit. And we thought it would be lovely to surprise you.” I glance at my father, whose expression clearly states this wasn’t his idea. “So we packed our things, bought plane tickets, and here we are.” She spreads her arms wide like a game show hostess.
“I see. Well, that is terribly sweet of you, and I appreciate the thought, but some advanced notice of your visit would have been nice. I might have been awake when you arrived.”
My mother waves her hand, dismissing the suggestion. “Nonsense. We are your parents. There is no need to prepare for our visit. With family, you should be flexible.”
Tension creeps into my shoulders, and my left eye starts to twitch. I love my parents. I do. And I know they adore me. But part of the reason I moved to the US was to escape my mother’s suffocating way of showing her love. “Yes, but I don’t have any food in the house at the moment. Not that I normally do. We usually eat out.” I don’t miss their quick glance and am perversely glad that the “we” isn’t lost on them. Serves them right for the surprise visit.
My mother grabs my hand and squeezes. “Yes, about that,mon chou. Who is your friend?” Her attempt at nonchalance is laughable, and I’m not sure what I want to tell them.
I hate feeling cross-examined and judged, so my response is snappish. “Do you mean the gorgeous naked man upstairs in my bed? That would be my boyfriend, Gunnar.” The kettle boils and shuts itself off just as the coffee finishes brewing. I use the distraction to collect myself, getting up and walking away from them before I say something I’ll regret. I prepare three cups of Earl Grey tea, pour the boiling water into two, leaving a third for when Gunnar wakes. With a deep inhale, I breathe in the citrusy aroma. It calms my jangly nerves and helps me center myself. “Mom, your tea.” I set one mug in front of her, pour milk into a small pitcher, and set that down next to her cup. Then I make a cup of coffee for my father and set it down in front of him. “Here’s your coffee, dad.”
“Thank you,mon fils.” I squeeze his shoulder and collect my own cup of tea, then sit down again.
That seems to be my mother’s cue to resume her interrogation. “So, a boyfriend. That’s nice,mon chou. Tell us about him. What does he do for a living? Who are his family?”
Feeling like I’ve been slapped, I round on her indignantly. “Seriously, mom? These are your first questions? Not does he make me happy? Or even where did I meet him? You go straight to asking if he is the right sort.” Leave it to her to be perfectly fine with my being gay but overly concerned that I might not pick the right social match.
Water runs through the upstairs pipes, and she looks at the ceiling as if she can see Gunnar. The frown she gives my father is infuriating, and right then, I decide exactly how I will play this. Footsteps sound on the stairs just as she responds. “Of course we care if he makes you happy,mon chou. It’s just that, well, there is a motorcycle parked in the other parking space, and he has quite a few tattoos, not that we were looking.”
“Then how did you see them?”
She has the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. “We took our cases upstairs, and your door was open.”
“True. I hadn’t thought I’d need to close it in my own home, when it is just Gunnar and me.”
“Livia.”
Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by a loud yawn before Gunnar shuffles into the kitchen. I don’t bother hiding my grin. I couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried. He’s obviously still half asleep and in a perfect state of half-dress. His muscular torso is crisscrossed with fresh love bites and scratch marks, the snug sweatpants from last night ride low on his hips, showing off that gorgeous V that drives me absolutely feral, and his hair and beard are just the right amount of rumpled. I smile and hold out my hand to him. “Good morning,mon chéri. How did you sleep?”
Gunnar rubs his eyes sleepily like a little boy, takes my hand, and leans down, kissing me on the top of the head. “Morning, babe. I slept incredibly well. You wore me out.”
At my mother’s sharp intake of breath, Gunnar lightly squeezes my hand, his gaze meeting mine. He raises one eyebrow in question, then steps back to face my parents. “Good morning. I didn’t realize we had company.”
I ignore my mother and choke back a laugh. “As if four hours of sleep isn’t what we’re used to.” Her look morphs from disapproval to horror as the meaning of the exchange sinks in. It’s worth every bit of the earful I’ll inevitably have to sit through. My father tries to hide his smile behind his coffee mug.
“Mon chéri, may I introduce my parents?” Gunnar’s eyes dart to mine, and I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Sorry, it was a surprise visit. This is my mother, Livia, and my father, Guillaume.” I stand and slip my arm around Gunnar’s waist. “Maman,papa, this is Gunnar Osouf, my absolutely gorgeous, brilliantly talented boyfriend, who makes me deliriously happy.” Gunnar shakes their hands and looks at me, then down at himself, panic flickering in his eyes.
